


Heat

by nic



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic/pseuds/nic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan, heat, and a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> 17 November 1999 
> 
> Rating: NC-17, I guess 
> 
> Category: POV (Obi-Wan), PWP (but not a traditional one) and a touch of romance. 
> 
> Archive: M_A only 
> 
> Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. 
> 
> Summary: Obi-Wan, heat, and a storm.

|  [Master Apprentice](http://www.masterapprentice.org/html/index.html) [Archive](http://www.masterapprentice.org/html/archive.html) Heat | Quick search:  
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 There are mornings when you awaken with a smile on your face and this day is no exception. It is warm. It is exciting. It is the knowledge of being at the mercy of the elements, knowing that the changes in the atmosphere can catalyse a reaction in your own body. I laugh and suck in that wondrous smell.   
  
The barest hints of sweat threaten to surface and I push back the covers, noting that I am alone. Apparently the heat drove my bedmate out early and I understand why. I would give almost anything to feel a cool breeze across my bare chest but there is nothing but the sultry scent of early summer.   
  
And I know, in my heart, that a storm is coming.   
  
I dress lightly, not even glancing at the heavy robe which has no place in my life on a day like this. The flimsiest pants, a longer tunic to provide the illusion of decency, yet part of me wants to dance naked through the day and revel in the sweet touch of heat on my skin. But no, that is for later, when the heat of my lover's touch will be a slow burn, more intense than even this. I wonder briefly where he is.   
  
The day passes as one slow, drawn out breath. The air is thick and it is difficult to move, yet it's also wonderfully exciting as I am amazed at the universe again, thrilled how every day can be so different.   
  
The heat, it surrounds me, encompasses me, squirms through every pore in my body until I become nothing but the heat itself. It infuses my blood.   
  
I am alive and I know this passionately as the afternoon wears on. Every motion causes new rivulets of sweat to form, I can feel my braid plastered to my back and it is yet another sign that in this heat, I have metamorphosed into something quite new, an ephemeral padawan who can only be vaguely seen, pushing through the fog-like thickness of the heavy air.   
  
I am not one with the Force today, no, I am one with the air; as I breathe it, it breathes me; we are bound together in one swampy thickness of delicious warmth. I lie on the floor and stare at the roof, imagining that cooling air currents drift past and know that in that moment, I am incapable of moving. I have almost melted, my skin is on fire and again I laugh, because it is all so new! Days like this are rare and to be treasured.   
  
And then, just when I think I have truly _become_ the air, there is a sound, so distant, but the tremors send matching tremors throughout my entire body and I _know_ , I _know_ that it is coming. The storm. It electrifies me.   
  
Another rumble, this time closer, and even though I am still glued to the floor, I become aware of the change outside the window and my eyes are drawn to the sky; the sky which was blazing blue has suddenly turned darker. There are eerie green and purple thunderheads rushing towards me, racing on a wind of fire and hail and finally, I can lift one hand and I reach for it, stretching, wanting to behold and embrace the change that is coming...   
  
A last deep breath of the heat, closing my eyes, feeling the thrum. And then I can move. Like a sleepwalker, I languidly drawn one leg up to my chest and then the other, now feeling the heat of my own body pulse against my heart. I roll onto my side, curled like a child in the womb, and perhaps this approaching storm is my rebirth. I watch it as it tears closer and breathe in time with the first tentative rushes of the wind.   
  
The wind. The wind! It bursts through the trees in one shocking roar and I spring to my feet and race onto the balcony, my heart rejoicing, for from the quiet slumber of the heat I have woken anew. I watch the trees.   
  
The air stills, it is momentarily calm and again I am frozen with my hands on the railing, just staring, staring into the distance, waiting for the arrival. So silent as if the entire world has sucked in a breath and is afraid to let go, because once it does, wildness will ensue and nothing can stop it. The temperature drops rapidly and now the salty sheen on my skin makes me almost cold. I shiver. I laugh. The fury hits.   
  
The sky is black and rain hails down with the new gust, shrieking through the trees. Each fat drop that hits my overheated skin sizzles and I rejoice in the sensation, lifting my hands to the sky and yelling, and realising that I cannot stay here, no, not when the weather calls to me to be out there and dancing and celebrating the sheer aliveness of the world!   
  
Perhaps this is what Qui-Gon means when he talks of being one with the living Force.   
  
I leap from the balcony and hit the grass running, noting the softness of the green decorated with purple flowers: it's a kaleidoscopic, psychedelic effect and I wonder if people have gone mad in the past staring at the green and purple carpet because I know I would had I been given time enough to stare.   
  
But I am not to stay on the grass, no, I must run. I run with the wind, lifting my hands to the sky, celebrating with every step and every breath the fact that I am alive. The cooling rain drenches me and soon my clothes are plastered to my skin, showing off every muscle and curve of my body in an almost erotic display.   
  
That causes me to pause for a moment: I wonder what Qui-Gon would think of my appearance and catch sight of myself in a reflecting window. A laughing young man with rivers pouring down his face as he lifts it to the sky, the white shirt now transparent and highlighting erect nipples, the equally soaked pants accentuating a central bulge, and the bare feet which splash through the puddles. And the braid, soaked, swinging around my head as I dance and sing.   
  
I was heat before but now I am something quite different, I am the wind and the rain and the storm and I feel I could dance off into the air forever and no one would ever think anything was amiss. I would become a part of this weather which travels the world, welcomed wherever I went.   
  
I implore the sky to satisfy me and it responds by intensifying the deluge and if it is possible, I run even faster, with the speed and grace of the Jedi, not trying to outrun the storm, just _being_ it, it's a madness that I cannot escape and nor do I want to. A purple streak lights up the sky, the grim beauty of lightning in the distance and I feel a thrill of fear, just a little. The elements can be dangerous as well. Still, it is far enough away for me to continue running and be unconcerned, for this is _my_ time and perhaps I am finding myself. I dance.   
  
Until, just as suddenly as it began, it stops. The world is still heavy and grey and the footpaths are steaming like a sauna, and I am gasping for breath as I suddenly stop too. Somehow I have returned home.   
  
I step inside onto the cool tiled floor, puffing, dripping, I suppose I am a bedraggled sight but the reception that greets me tells me something quite different. My Master, my lover, my Qui- Gon, stands there on the stair with his arms crossed, just staring. His eyes rake over my body and I feel as if he's undressing me with his mind.   
  
Under the heat of his gaze I shiver. And then I apologise for my behaviour as a wry smile crosses his lips. I know that look. Slowly, languidly, I begin to peel my tunic from my heated skin, hearing the sucking sound as it is pulled away. Qui-Gon takes a step closer. I meet his eyes.   
  
I reach down to the waistband of my pants, my fingers skimming across the top, and then pushing down just a little until the curve of my hip is exposed. Qui-Gon growls. I turn my head just a fraction, deliberately swinging my braid from over my shoulder so that it skims across my chest.   
  
I manage to slide the pants down to my knees before Qui-Gon pounces. His weight is heavy on me, for some reason, he has managed to survive today wearing his thick robe and the heat radiates from him, covering me and sizzling with my own skin. All too soon the rain evaporates.   
  
His mouth is on mine, his tongue possessively working its way inside my mouth and I let him in and then respond with fervour. My tongue duels with his as I feel his hands slide all over my body. Each touch is like fire, beginning with the planes of my back in a crushing hug as he pulls me close and my cock springs to life as it bumps against the bulge hidden within his robe. His hands, they are everywhere, sliding, caressing, possessing, skimming from my stomach to graze over my nipples and I moan into his mouth.   
  
My eyes are closed, I have lost myself in this incredible touch. Again his hands wander, but this time down my body, until finally, he is holding my aching member, teasing and gentle at first but when I thrust forward, demanding, his touch becomes stronger and I find myself leaving the tempting cavern of his mouth to moan into his shoulder, biting into the thick clothing.   
  
Another stroke, and then another, and they increase to a blinding pace and I can do nothing more than lie their gasping, my hands uselessly trying to pull him closer, or caress his face. As my head drops back to the floor I open my eyes to find him looking at me. Watching me intently. There is a heat in that blue to match the heat of his hands which are driving me insane and lightning flares between us and then I am over that edge, crying out his name as I come.   
  
I lie on the floor, I cannot move. There is a heat within me and a heat between us and I realise that there are two very different kinds of heat. That which comes from the weather, and that which comes from being loved.   
  
I am very fortunate to know both. 

 


End file.
